


This Could Be a Beginning

by Octojock



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:38:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octojock/pseuds/Octojock
Summary: With a quiet sigh you remember the way she’d smile that was always reserved just for you, the one where her eyes would crinkle just so with a flash of teeth, genuine.You let your love for her die in your chest much like the way it came, quietly and inevitably, like the rising and retreating of a tide.





	

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves”  
Federico Garcia Lorca _, Blood Wedding and Yerma_

 

 ---

 

The first time you saw her you were young, no older than ten and the back of your throat itched. You remember giving a little cough and then waving the incident away until it was all but forgotten. At such a young age how could you have known it was a warning sign for what was to come.

\---

By the time you were 12 you had heard some of the stories, whispers in the hallways of your school like some coveted secret. Adults didn’t talk to kids your age about them, neither confirming nor denying the persistent questions those in your grade asked them daily, perhaps thinking you were all too young for the truth yet. They were right, and although they never confirmed the theories some of your classmates made up about it all, there seemed to be a quiet understanding amongst everyone. That the theories of the children had a grain of truth to them, although no one would admit it out loud. Breaking the silence would be breaking the spell that had befallen you all, cracking through the calm before the storm.

 

Flower petals, they would say with reverence, some swooning at how romantic the notion seemed, others fighting down the fear of a potentially hopeless future filled with heartbreak. Everyone was afraid it would happen to them, that something as soft and as light as a flower petal would be a heavy burden in their chest, tickling their throats. Vines slowly crawling up their lungs, up their windpipe searching for air fresher still. You were still young at the time, young and naive, and you remember thinking _not me, no way that’ll happen to me._ As if your young and mighty heart could control an emotion such as hapless as love.

\---

You were 15 when it happened for the first, but not the last, time. 15 and in love, and by this time everyone around you knew something or other about the petals, some had parents who had told them stories of when they suffered from it, some had parents still suffering from it. The first sign of them was a warning of dissent in a marriage, and after that first cough you can image how quickly a relationship can dissolve in its wake. In a marriage it meant one of two things, and they were almost both equally as bad.

It was 2am and you had just finished a phone call with her, she was telling you excitedly about the date she had just gone on and God it was so _cliche_ but after you said your goodnights and hung up, you felt a tightness in your chest. It got tighter and tighter and your throat got itchier and itchier until finally you let out a soft cough, and a white petal fell softly from between your lips slowly floating down to your sheets. _Oh that’s why._ You remember thinking you were doomed and how everything suddenly made sense. The way your gaze had lingered on her for just that moment longer ever since you both started high school, the way you’d started to hold onto her just that little bit tighter when she hugged you. That night was full of tears for the future you were scared to have, and a pillow case covered in petals and pollen from all your hacking coughs that just _wouldn’t stop_ once you started them. A dam was opened that night, and you’d drown in its wake for years to come and you were hopeless to stop it. You didn’t even know if you wanted to.

\---

The years went by and the vines grew and grew, slowly consuming the words you’d never be able to speak aloud to her, slowly suffocating you. She was _happy_ finally and she loved hard and fast, having her heart cherished and broken but always respected. She would come to you with stories of dates and loves and you would listen with a soft smile, because although they were never about you, you were always happy to see her happy. It was enough for a while, your pillow could take the tears and the petals you would hack up by the handful each night. On some particularly bad nights your bed looked like the floor of a florist's shop, and part of you found a beauty in it, part of you was relieved you had tangible proof of your love for her. Another part of you was as bitter as the pollen that would dust the petals, but you always were a bleeding heart.

You found out near the beginning that they were cherry blossom petals, small and soft and pure and you found it fitting, because if you had ever known pure in your short life it was her. If anyone deserved to have their life cherished it was sure as hell her. She wasn’t innocent, far from it, but her soul was pure and _just_ , and she had a passion that was unrivaled. She made you feel strong, and you found it fitting that something as delicate as a flower petal could cause you so much anguish. Each one burning a path up your throat, more painful than the last.

\---

You’re in pain, breathing is becoming a chore and loving her has become a habit more than anything else at this point. You want to cry because while breathing hurts and hurts and _hurts,_ falling out of love with her feels like you’re ripping a part of your soul out. You know you have to though, your lungs are getting clogged up and the petals are becoming wilted and gray, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Loving her used to be as easy as breathing, and you suppose it still is, because breathing hasn’t come easy to you in a while, especially not now.

You want to remember her one last time in all of her beautiful glory before you let her go for good. You want to remember the girl you fell so hopelessly in love with, who could never love you back the same way. She was the type of girl ordinary men wrote epic love poems about, the girl who was a muse for artists and whose smile could light up even the darkest of rooms. She made you want to fight for her, with her, _anything_ to be around her. She had hair the colour of dark chocolate and eyes the colour of the earth's rich soil, teeming with the potential of life. She was brilliant too, an excellent mechanic and always top of her class, striving to be the best, and then pushing herself just that little bit further to be truly _magnificent._ She was warm and brash and beautifully sarcastic, always quick with a joke and a smile and to this day you think she’s still one of the funniest people you know.

She was passion and fire to your younger self, and you were the ice that would melt in her wake, and it took you a long time to come to terms with the fact that she would never love you in the way you needed her to. It’s about time you let her go, as you’re both going in vastly different directions in life and she’s already met people she’s loved and you’ve always been that one step behind. You figure you should take a step forward finally and do the same, you deserve it after all this time, you owe it to yourself to move on. You know if she knew about your feelings for her she would want this for you too.

With a quiet sigh you remember the way she’d smile that was always reserved just for you, the one where her eyes would crinkle _just so_ with a flash of teeth, genuine.

You let your love for her die in your chest much like the way it came, quietly and inevitably, like the rising and retreating of a tide. A petal flutters from your lips for her one last time, full and beautiful and new and you think while maybe this could be a start to something new, it’s also most definitely an end.

\---

You’re 19 when you meet her in your second year of university, with the disease and thoughts of _Raven_ an old wound, but a wound just the same. You’ve had the chance to heal for nearly a year and you’re doing better than you thought you would be. You try to keep in touch with Raven because she’s still your best friend, but distance and schoolwork are harder to navigate than both of you anticipated they would be, but you’re both trying, and maybe one day that will be enough. You hope it is, because no one will ever quite get you like she does, and you know she feels the same way. You pray it’s enough.

You don’t know her name the first time you see her as you walk into your lecture hall, but you immediately want to because _wow_ she’s breathtaking, _stunning_ really. All wild hair and tame eyes and you purposefully sit two seats away from her in the same row, if only to be able to steal glances and present yourself with the opportunity to talk to her if you gain the courage. You don’t know how you haven't seen her around campus before today, because you would remember a face like hers, but you count your blessings that you noticed her in this class.

The professor walks in shortly after and starts the lecture and you pay attention as best you can, taking diligent notes and doodling in the margins of the page when you get bored. You try to be stealthy and sneak a few peaks of Mystery Girl out of the corner of your eye. You think she’s caught onto what you’re doing though when the third time you look over she’s smiling amusedly while looking down at her notes. You can’t really find yourself to care all too much, she’s just too nice to stop looking at.

You hear the professor say something about a group project that you will all have to participate in over the next few weeks and you hear a chorus of groans around you, and even you let out a little sigh as the prof good naturedly chuckles and starts to read off pairings from a list. You start doodling again and your mind wanders until you hear the prof call your name and - _shit_ you weren’t paying all that much attention.

Your head snaps up and you're about to go searching around for a partner you don’t know the name of when all of a sudden she’s in front of you, smiling softly and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Your breath catches because she’s even more beautiful up close, and all you want to do is admire her. She clears her throat softly, eyeing you curiously and it’s at that point that you notice her hand is outstretched and waiting. You stumble to your feet perhaps a bit too eagerly and she gives you another soft smile as she grips your hand firmly. It’s the kind of smile that makes her eyes crinkle around the edges and you feel like you’re looking into a forest. Endless possibility and adventure, and a tranquility sets over you, soothing you in a way that you didn’t even know you needed. You didn’t even realize you were still hurting. But you were, _are,_ the taste of petals still fresh on your tongue and all at once you ache for a chance to know this girl. Ache to be able to prove yourself worthy because you can already tell she’s different than Raven and that's just what you want, what you _need_ . Raven was fire and heat but this girl before you is calm and powerful, and you’re _hopeful_ for the first time in a long while. She opens her mouth and her voice is clear and pleasant and makes your stomach feel warm and fuzzy.

“Hi I’m Lexa, it’s nice to meet you.”

You smile. “Hi Lexa,” you test the way her name rolls off your tongue and your grin grows wider with the joy of it all, “I’m Clarke.”

You both continue to grin at each other as you drop your hands, and you can’t help but feel like it’s the beginning of something. She’s no Raven, and you wouldn’t want her to be, because this, _Lexa,_ the two of you together feels like something bigger than you both. You’re excited and your chest feels lighter than it has in a long, long time. You think you might just be ready to love again, if only she lets you.

As you both walk out of the lecture hall making small talk and stealing glances at one another, you have a feeling she just might.


End file.
